The Awakening
by Vir M
Summary: Dante's elaborate masquerade as a normal human teenager crumbled the day his demonic blood awoke his inner darkness. With the help of his best friend's journal, he will relive some of the darkest, and happiest, moments of his life. Original characters.
1. Chapter 1: Dante's Prologue

The Awakening

_A Fan-Fiction written by Vir M._

Conceived by Absinth.X.

Dante's Prologue:

"Beginning"

* * *

I wanted to begin this with the phrase "In loving memory," but then I realized just how cheesy it would sound and decided against it. That and the fact that I don't even know if the one being remembered is really dead or not. Beginning this isn't exactly easy for me. Hell, my beginning with HER wasn't easy either; why should writing about the goddamn situation be any less difficult?

I'm not entirely sure why I'm writing this, actually. I've got no reason to. Oh, Sam probably would have made me do it at some point (the literary _nut_), but she's not exactly here to force me, now is she? I had to leave before she ever got the chance.

It was for her own good, though; don't get me wrong. I didn't want what happened to my parents to happen to _her_.

And it's not like I wanted to leave, either, but everyone I knew was in danger: Sam, Uncle Harry and Aunt Leila—everybody. If I had stayed they would have wound up dead and gutted at my feet. Their blood would have been on my hands—and the memory of their eviscerated corpses would have been engraved on the face of my heart.

My conscience is already torn enough as it is.

Still, I worry over it. I wonder every day is she's all right, if the foster parents whom I still call Aunt and Uncle are no longer breathing; I wonder if the small town I abandoned is still the bustling, home-spun place it once was.

I can't check on them though, not if it risks them being found. The scent of my newly-awoken demonic blood still lingers there, and if I were to draw any unnecessary attention back to where I came into my demonic powers…

There would be hell to pay.

* * *

**AUTHOR TIME **

**The prologue to the DantexOC fic I am writing on commission for Absinth X! I hope you enjoyed, and that it was mysterious and compelling enough to merit your attention (and hopefully your curiosity!). The next chapter is another teaser-ish chapter that introduces the main OC, but the first real chapter will be coming soon enough. Please comment and keep reading!**

**DEVIL MAY CRY & DANTE © CAPCOM**

**"THE AWAKENING" CONCEIVED BY ABSINTH.X**

**WRITTEN BY VIR M.**


	2. Chapter 2: The Journal

The Awakening

A Fan-Fiction by Vir M.

Conceived by Absinth.X.

_Chapter 01:_

"The Journal"

* * *

_I have her diary here. I took it before I left._

_I don't know why I grabbed it, really, just like I don't know why I'm compiling all of this information: hers and mine. This story… just needs to be told. I need to get it off my chest._

_But I can't do it alone. There are things about the situation that I don't know; things that only Sam can say. _

_Now she can finally say them. _

* * *

**September 7th, 8:35 P.M.: Journal Entry # 1**

* * *

I hate birthdays, sometimes.

Now don't get me wrong, I like birthdays just as much as the next person. It's just that Dad doesn't really know how to act around me anymore, which makes this whole 'sweet sixteen' thing seem more awkward than celebratory, if you catch my drift. He tries though, and it breaks my heart to see it. He just tries SO HARD!

He did well with my present, though: he got me _this_. A journal. It's bound in red leather and has an old fashioned lock on it that can only be opened with a sturdy brass key, not one of the flimsy ones you get with the cheap _plastic_ diaries with bunnies on 'em meant for little kids. It looks like it cost a lot, so I guess I HAVE to write in it, for Dad's sake. I'm not really the type of person to talk about myself, actually, which doesn't really make sense considering the huge paragraph I just wrote.

So anyway, here I am in my room, scribbling away. This is kind of boring, but I like to write, so… yeah. Just not about myself. This is going to be hard.

Let's move on, shall we? Here's a thought: should I give this diary thing a name? Like Anne (From "The Diary of Anne Frank") did in _her_ diary (she named hers "Kitty," but that's a bit too girly for my tastes…)? I suppose I'll write a name down if I think of one, but for now… hmm, where was I going with this, anyway?

Names, that's it. But I'll do that later. I'll start with my own before assigning anyone else's, even though I don't really want to…

My name—my full one, I mean—is Samantha Adeline Matthews. Call me that to my face, however, and you die. It's 'Sam' for short. Did you notice that my initials spell my nickname? Pretty cool, huh? I'm shy, a bit bubbly when I'm with my friends, and clumsy. And I love to read. I also have some freckles across my nose, which I hate passionately.

Um… I also love to write, which is why I suppose I'm still… writing this? Rambling is actually a more apt term, but… whatever.

Where was I going with this again? Oh yeah, a name for my diary. Let's think on this a moment…

* * *

**LATER, 9:40 P.M.**

* * *

This is hard. To choose, I mean. I _suppose_ I could pick a name of a character out of one of my favorite books or something… Yeah, I think I'll do that. I'm a Jane Austen fan, so I guess I could start there: Darcy, Jane, Emma…

No, I'm not liking any of those. How about Dickens? I love Dickens; his books are my favorites: A Tale of Two Cities, Great Expectations, Oliver Twist…

Oliver… Twist.

Twist.

I think I've found my name.

I DUB THEE "TWIST, THE HIGH AND MIGHTY." YOU MUST PROMISE TO TELL NONE OF MY SECRETS, OR THOU SHALT BURN IN THE FIRIEST DEPTHS OF LUCIFER'S BOOK-BURNING HELL! Or Dante's seventh level, if you prefer. Pick your poison, Twisty-kins.

There. Perfect. Sealed away on a promise of paper, never to be read by prying eyes. This book is mine now, from the pages to the bindings to the leather cover. Twist The High & Mighty _did_, after all, promise to keep it safe.

Admittedly, I do feel a bit silly— but whatever.

It's not like anyone ELSE is going to read you, Twist.

* * *

_Huh. Funny, that naming business. Sam was such as spazz, especially when she thought no one was watching. _

_But, then again, we all have our little secrets. She had more hidden behind those innocent baby-blues of hers than I ever gave her credit for. _

_Now however… there is no place for secrets._

_Sorry, Twist. Looks like you're going to have to break your promise. _

* * *

**AUTHOR TIME**

**NOTE: In case you couldn't tell, the stuff in italics was Dante talking, and the rest was the OC, ****Sam.**

**Dante will usually (though not always) introduce Sam's journal entries, as well as end them. **

**Message from ABSINTH.X**** I came up with the initial concept for this particular fan fiction, so I'm pretty much the brains of this little operation. If you have any complaints about the story line, direct them at me. Don't give Vir shit for my lame ideas.**

**VIR:****But if any readers have problems with the writing itself, I will take the heat.**

**Anyway, this fic takes place after Eva and Vergil's death, but before the events of any DMC game/manga/novel ever released. VERGIL IS (presumed) DEAD. HE WILL NOT BE MAKING AN APPEARANCE, FANGIRLS (aside from the occasional reminisce by Dante, he will NEVER appear in the flesh).**

**DEVIL MAY CRY © CAPCOM**

**"THE AWAKENING" conceived by ABSINTH . X.**

**written by VIR M . **


	3. Chapter 3: Meeting

The Awakening

Written by Vir,

Conceived by Absinthe X.

Chapter 02:

"Meeting"

* * *

_We pick up exactly four months later, after the Christmas holiday._

_I didn't meet her until then, though I had seen her around school on occasion. She had been 'The Quiet' Girl' to me, the shy brunette in the back with her nose in a book, constantly pushing her thick 'emo' glasses up her nose with a finger. Something of a nerd, all knees and elbows she hadn't quite grown into, daily uniform of jeans and a t-shirt, she'd struck me as—_

_Well, to tell you the truth, she DIDN'T strike me. Ever. I didn't even notice her until she was directly in front of me._

_But I'll let her tell you about that._

* * *

January 7, 8:00 P.M.

* * *

Dear Twist,

When was the last time I pulled you out, Twist? One month ago; two? I haven't written in here since that first post all those months ago, but I think I'd like to start writing in you more frequently. My nerves are shot, and I need to blow off some steam.

But I need to say something before I go off on my little tirade. Just, you know, get something crucial out of the way:

My.

Day.

Sucked.

See?! You can even tell it was bad because I used the word 'sucked.' I NEVER say something 'sucked.' But my day did, and it's the only word I can think of to describe it with, despite my vocabulary.

Since today was the first day of school after Christmas break and all, I tried to get there early, but the battery in my jeep—yeah, the one I replaced _just last week_—shorted. AGAIN. Dad had to jumpstart it, but we couldn't find the cables and had to look for it for about thirty minutes in our jungle of a garage (remind me to clean out the garage this weekend, okay, Twist?). We finally got my car started, but by then I was already late and had to speed to get to class on time. I hit my seat in pre-cal just as the bell rang.

Math is my worst subject. I'm not exactly bad at it, but I don't enjoy it and tend to daydream instead of listen in to the lectures. There was a pop quiz at the end of the period over the day's material, which I undoubtedly failed. My next period (physics) was only marginally better, because I like my teacher and she likes me (and my good grades) enough to ignore me when I read books during her class. We got assigned a truck-load of homework, though, which I doubt I'll understand since I didn't pay attention. The period after that (web mastery) was fun because we got to critique websites, but since history followed that class it was a short-lived joy. My history teacher and I hate each other on principle because I'm a Shakespeare fan and she favors Marlow as the actual author of Willy's works. She tends to pick on me in class when I read under the desk (like she did today). I'd probably be enjoying that class if someone else taught it.

Then there was lunch. Ah, lunch. I hate lunch, and today was even worse than usual because I left my lunch at home in my haste to get to school and forgot to bring money for the cafeteria. And it's not like I have friends to borrow money from, so I went hungry.

My lack of friends is another reason I hate lunch, but since that's depressing I'd rather not talk about it.

Anyway, I didn't want to sit in the cafeteria, alone and foodless, so I went up onto the roof of the school. Now, our school is only three stories tall, and the roof is accessible via an indoor staircase. The roof itself is separated from mid-air by a chain link fence (about nine or so feet high) and the custodians tend to leave the door unlocked so they can grab a cigarette without trouble if need be. It's always deserted at lunch, though, because the janitors take that time to clean the auditorium and stuff when all the kids are elsewhere.

The roof is always fun when vacant, and I was really looking forward to getting some quiet time up there. Unfortunately, however, the Loner Kid with the leather jacket I always see around school—everybody calls him "Loner Kid;" I'm not sure what his real name is, though I suppose it doesn't really matter—was sitting in the only patch of sunlight, eating a slice of cold pizza. Since its January, sitting in the sun is probably a good idea, and I had no desire to feel the frigid three-story wind with no sun to back me up. I shut the door quietly and left before he saw me.

I know, I know, it's a big roof—why couldn't I have just sat there with him?

There's one thing you have to know about me, Twist: I'm shy. Like, rabbit shy. I get along with adults well enough, but when it comes to talking to kids my own age I just—choke, I guess. I mean, I get along great with (most of) my teachers, and all of Daddy's friends love me, but I can never seem to get along with other kids. I freeze up and say stupid stuff and then they think I'm a totally nerd and a weirdo, but… I don't know. I'm used to it. I guess I'm content the way I am.

Don't take that the wrong way, though; I'd love having friends my own age. In books, I always feel jealous of the heroines who have a best friend or a group of them, and wonder how they make it seem so easy. They meet someone and POOF—they're practically sisters! Does that even happen in real life? I wish it did.

Anyway, enough of the disheartening stuff. I hung out in the library for the rest of lunch, pulling random books off the shelves and skimming through them. When the bell rang I went to photography, where we did darkroom. I messed up my prints (they turned this washed-out grey color that reminded me of dryer lint), got yelled at by my teacher, Mr. Syrnka, and got laughed at by my classmates. Ouch.

What was even more 'ouch' was P.E. We played volleyball, and my teammates made me stand at the back so I wouldn't get balls hit to me, because they knew I'd drop them if they did. The other team knew that too, though, and tried their very best to serve straight at me. My team lost, like usual, and the insides of my wrists are bruised from all the serves I tried to deflect. I'm not sure I'm hitting the ball right, so I guess I'll ask the coach if she'll show me how to do it properly tomorrow.

English finally rolled around the next (and last) period. English is by far my favorite subject, and upon entering the classroom I, in an appallingly nerdy fashion, immediately got out all my supplies and sat there eagerly waiting for class to start. It finally did after a few agonizing minutes, and we were about to get started on annotating a short story when the intercom buzzed and I got called to the office.

I mean, of all the rotten luck! I tromped down the hallway, and I swear I was so mad my glasses fogged up.

Of course, my anger evaporated when I got to the office. It's not in my nature to be mad at people, and certainly not innocent secretaries like the nice middle-aged one behind the front desk who directed me into the principal's office. The feeling was replaced with worry as I entered Mr. White's office.

He was reading an email on his computer when I walked in, and bade me to sit down. Then he offered me a soda. It was then I knew that whatever it was he was going to say would not be good.

"Miss Matthews," he said to me with a half-smile. I gulped quietly, hands clenched tightly around my unopened soda can. "I thought I should check up on you. How was your Christmas Holiday?"

"Fine," I replied. Nerves made my voice small and my answers short. "Quiet. Family visited. Why?"

His brown, basset hound eyes regarded me calmly over his thin spectacles. "In light of last semester's tragedy, I felt a follow-up was in order. I take it you are still in counseling?"

The bottom of my stomach promptly fell out at that, Twist. I hate talking about what happened. Weakly, I said: "No."

"No?"

"No."

He waited for a reply, but I didn't want to give him one. When he realized that no answer was forthcoming, he took it upon himself to drive the conversation forward. "Your mother, Miss Matthews, would not like it if she knew you were doing nothing to manage your grief. If you—"

I promptly stopped listening. My throat felt thick, and if I had listened further I would have wound up an emotional mess on his floor. What a day this had tuned out to be, right?

Actually, it got better, and no, that was not sarcasm. God seemed to think I needed a break, and provided a distraction.

The door to Mr. White's office burst open with a crash, stopping the principal mid-sentence. In marched Mr. Darvy, the thin, nosy, and mean-spirited vice-principal. In tow was Loner Kid (remember, the one on the roof?), who looked calm and collected in his usual leather jacket and torn jeans.

"Mr. White," said Mr. Darvy. "I am sorry to interrupt—" His eyes darted over to me, widened in recognition, then flicked away. I hate it when school administration does that. "—but I found this young man loitering on the roof during classes." With the word 'young man,' he pushed Loner Kid forward.

It was the first time I'd ever really gotten a good look at Loner Kid. He had a shock of what could only be bleached white hair cut in a shaggy punk do, wide shoulders, a handsome face, and eyes the color of a gas-flame. He looked bored and unrepentant, hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans, scuffed New Balance sneakers looking thoroughly bohemian against Mr. White's immaculate office carpeting.

"And this isn't even the first time!" spluttered Mr. Darvy, when Mr. White didn't react. "He was up there last semester, too!"

Mr. White looked tired. "Thank you, Mr. Darvy," he said. He turned to me. "That will be all for now, Miss Matthews. Wish your father well for me."

I nodded at him and stood up. With quick steps I walked around Loner Kid and Darvy, the latter of which nodded at me. The former ignored me.

Oh well, I was used to that from the rest of the students. No matter. With lowered spirits, I went back to English. I didn't pay much attention to class after that. The first time I perked up was at the end of the period when the teacher announced an outside-of-school group project. I'm embarrassed to admit that my heart started hammering in my chest. I would have rather worked alone than work up the courage to ask someone. Call me a coward, but I just don't like dealing with people.

However, God seemed to be on my side again. There was an even number of students in the class, but one of them was absent, so I got paired with 'Dante King' by default. I mean, I would ideally work alone, but given the option of being assigned a partner over picking one… I would go for being assigned one every time. I'm kind of nervous about having a male partner, though. I'm bad enough with members of my own sex; I dread to see how I'll embarrass myself around a boy, whoever he is.

At any rate, class ended a few minutes later. I went to my locker, then got in my car and drove home.

I pulled into the garage and quickly killed the engine. Dad wasn't home yet, as evidenced by his absent car. He works a lot these days, down at the firm, and sometimes sleeps in his office. I know being a lawyer is tough and all, but I do miss him. I also miss cooking for him, because it's just no fun fixing meals for me and me alone, and since I love to cook and my guinea pig is never home… you can imagine my culinary frustration.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes: I got home, pulled into the garage, went upstairs, and did my homework. As I predicted, I couldn't do my physics assignment. Joy. After I puzzled through the rest of my stuff, I pulled out you, Twist, started writing, and ended up here. You're a great way to vent, you know? Totally makes my day better. Remind me to thank Dad for you later, when he gets home.

If he gets home.

* * *

**AUTHOR NOTE**

**I know the timeline of this story is slightly confusing, but please make sure to pay attention to the dates at the top of Sam's entries. This entry takes place months after the first—she forgot about Twist, it seems. I hope you enjoyed Sam the Spazz. I really like her as a character. Kudos to Absinthe for creating her. Speaking of which…**

**To Absinthe.X.: I emailed weeks ago, but got no response. I know how you want the next few chapters to be written, but if you don't come back soon (please do!) then I guess I'll have to take the story in my own direction. Please return/respond soon!**

**Devil May Cry © CAPCOM**

**SAM/SCENARIO © ABSINTHE X**

**WRITING © VIR M.**


	4. Chapter 4

The Awakening

By Vir M. & Absinthe.X

Chapter 04:

"An Exchange of Words"

* * *

January 8, 9:00 P.M.

Twist--

I'd like to start off by saying that Dad didn't make it home last night, but that it's okay because I know he's busy. He did call me this morning, though, to tell me he'd be home tonight, and to please have dinner ready for him. His call perked me up considerably, brightening the pall hanging over my mood caused by the memory of my bad day yesterday. The rest of my school day (up until lunch) went smoothly. After school was an utter disaster. Let me start with lunch, first.

Of course, lunch was difficult for me, as always. I went up to the roof, hoping for it to be unoccupied so I could sit around by myself, but no such luck. Loner Kid was there again, eating cold pizza, just like yesterday. However, something happened that _wasn't_ just like yesterday.

Loner Kid talked to me, and I learned that he—

Oh, hold on, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning: I went up to the roof with my lunch (which I remembered to bring this time), opened the door, and saw L.K. sitting there, munching away. I thought he hadn't seen me, so I tried to quietly leave. I'd gotten the door about halfway closed when I heard him say: "Hey, you, wait."

Of course, my heart leapt into my mouth and my reply was a stuttered "M-me?" but hey, at least I didn't run away or something, right?

L.K. rolled to his feet lazily, and left his pizza sitting on a napkin. The wind, a constant three-story breeze, blew his bleached hair into his eyes. "Who else?"

"I don't know." State-the-obvious, much? God, I hate myself sometimes.

He stared at me. "Aren't you Samantha Matthews?"

My reply was automatic, tempered over many years of correcting teachers: "Sam, please."

"Sam, then," he relented. "You're in my English class."

"Really?" I blurted, then mentally smacked myself. So much for being observant of others.

"Uh, yeah." He looked at me like I was nuts. I could have just _died_. "Since first semester."

"Oh." I blushed. "I didn't realize…"

He held up a hand. "Hey, no big deal; I don't stand out much."

Liar. For a high schooler, he was gorgeous—I could see that now that I was focusing on him fully. He stood out like a sore thumb just begging to be kissed 'all better,' if you'll pardon the analogy.

"Me neither," I said. "I'm pretty quiet."

He laughed, and the sound was confident, clear. "I noticed. It took me forever to figure out who you were."

Wait, what? Figure _what_ out? "Excuse me?"

He blinked at me. "Um… didn't Mr. Radler tell you?"

"Tell me what?" I asked, utterly bewildered. It must have shown on my face, for his tone had turned disbelieving.

"We're partners. In the project he assigned."

Twist, I cannot begin to tell you how embarrassing it was, admitting to myself that I didn't even know the Loner Kid's name. I could have shriveled up and died right then and there, but instead, I only deepened my embarrassment by babbling out a torrent of words meant to cover my up my slip. It seemed a good idea at the time, though now I can see just how stupid I must have looked standing there, running my mouth into oblivion. "OH! You're Dante! Hi! Nice to meet you! Yes, Mr. Radler told me you'd be my partner! How could I forget? Oops!" I laughed nervously. "My bad!"

The Loner Kid—Dante—sighed heavily. "I suppose this is what I get for being so detached, huh?"

"Oh, no!" I said immediately. I'm too maternal for my own good, it seems, and all I wanted to do at that moment was make him feel better. "I'm just bad with names!"

"Right," he said. "Sure." His look read: 'get me away from this weirdo,' but he said nothing unkind. "Anyway, I'm Dante, so…"

I didn't say anything; I couldn't, there were too many butterflies in my stomach. Instead, I just smiled at him nervously. We stood there in a very long, very awkward silence until I worked up the nerve to say: "Well, I guess I'll be going now. See you in class!"

Then I tried to flee for my life, and failed miserably.

"Hey, wait!"

I turned around slowly. He was sitting on the ground again, in the roof's only puddle of sunlight.

"Why don't you eat with me?"

My mouth suddenly went dry. I gaped at him like a fish. His eyes went uncertain when I made no reply.

"If you don't want to—"

"No!"

I clapped a hand over my mouth at the interjection. Where had that come from?

Dante's look grew—if possible—even more confused. "Do you mean 'No, I don't want to eat with you,' or 'no, I don't _not_ want to eat with you?'"

"Uh…" I gulped. "Yes?"

"Wait, what?"

Another awkward silence. My blush was crimson. Dante sighed in mild annoyance when I didn't say a word.

"Just sit down."

I hesitated, but eventually lowered myself to the ground at the extreme edge of the sunlit circle. I tried to look anywhere but at him, busying myself with laying out my lunch. Carefully, I arranged my canister of some tomato soup I'd made the day before, a drink, a spoon, and a tidily folded napkin neatly in front of me.

"Wow, OCD much?"

I looked up at him jerkily, blushing, and he laughed softly. It was a pretty sound, Twist; I couldn't help but thinking that. I lowered my eyes and twisted the top off my soup. Dante drew in a breath as the steam wafted into the air.

"What, do you have a live-in chef or something? That stuff smells great."

Embarrassed, I mumbled: "_I_ made it."

"Wow, really?" he asked in surprise. "You like to cook?"

I didn't like being asked questions, so I tried to keep my answers to a minimum. "Uh-huh."

"Did you take lessons, or did you just learn out of books and stuff?"

_What is it with him and asking questions?!_ I thought. I decided to evade the question and just nod.

Even though I wasn't looking at him, I could almost feel him grow a little disappointed. "You don't like to talk much, do you?"

I chanced a glance at him. He was frowning slightly, and looked considerably confused.

I shook my head. "I'm not very good with people."

He laughed again. "Me neither. Why do you think I always sit alone at lunch?"

I shrugged and felt myself start smiling. "I sit alone at lunch, too." I took a sip of my soup.

Dante grinned. I felt warmer, despite the cold wind. Was it because of the soup, or his smile? I still don't know, _still _don't want to know. "But not today."

I think I turned the color of my meal. "Nope."

Dante smiled at me a little more, then took a bite of his pizza. We ate in silence for a few minutes until I thought to ask: "So what happened with you and Mr. Darvy yesterday?"

Dante's expression was a mixture of confusion and shock, which quickly faded into amusement and a touch of wonder. "I'd forgotten you where in Mr. White's office when I got brought in."

"I told you I didn't stand out much." When Dante didn't reply, I urged: "So what happened? Did you get in trouble?"

He shrugged. "Why are you so interested?"

I was lost for words, but eventually came to realize just why I wanted to know. "I've never been in trouble before," I tried to explain.

Dante tilted his head to one side. "Then what were you doing in the principal's office?"

I'm pretty sure my face went pale. Suddenly, I lost my appetite. Dante noticed and asked: "What's the matter?"

I didn't really know what to tell him. Mom's accident is still a touchy accident for me, as you could probably tell by yesterday's run in with Mr. White. I just sat there, floundering before Dante's too perceptive eyes, struggling with the right words.

Then the bell rang.

I tell you, I almost cried from relief, Twist. Hastily, I gathered up my things and said: "Well, I don't want to be late for photography. See you in English!"

Then I ran like the devil was on my heels.

Of course, I later had to face him in English. My other classes passed in a blur of color and sound, but English passed with aching slowness. I thought that maybe I was going to get out of talking to Dante, because he was late to class and our seats are on opposite sides of the room, but our teacher made us get together with our project partner the last fifteen minutes of class to plan out our assignments and stuff like that. Just my luck, right?

My pulse quickened as Dante walked over to my desk, dragging a chair with him. He sat in it backward, pillowing his chin on his forearms.

"Hey," he said softly. I gulped.

"Hi."

"I never got to finish telling you about my trip to the office."

Tension flooded out of me at that. He hadn't remembered his own questions, it seemed. Thank God! I tried to look interested, and somehow hid my relief behind it. "Oh, right."

"Mr. Darvy caught me skipping class, so he chewed me out, then decided that a detention wasn't enough. He dragged me down to White's office, and they called in Uncle Harry."

The name interested me. "Who?"

"My legal guardian."

"So you live with your uncle."

Dante shook his head. "Not quite. We're not related; I just call him that. He adopted me when I was about nine, and I couldn't get used to calling him 'dad,' but didn't want to just call him by his name, either." He smiled. "So he became my 'uncle,' and his wife became my 'aunt.' It keeps people from asking too many questions."

I could relate, but the desire to know more really did nag at me. Still, I said nothing, just nodded.

"But, anyway," Dante said, "they called my uncle and we had a long talk. Now I'm grounded."

"That's no fun," I said, trying to look sympathetic. In reality, however, I was more in awe: I'd never been grounded before.

"Tell me about it," he muttered, running a hand through his thick hair. "I got my car taken away and everything."

"How do you get to school?" I asked. "Isn't hard for your uncle to drive you? If I were in charge of grounding a kid, I don't think I'd take a car away, because it would be too much of a hassle on both the kid and the parents. Same thing with cell phones. They're more of a necessity than a luxury, and I don't think parents should—"

Dante, I noticed then, was staring at me, and smiling. "You know," he said, "once you get past the shyness, you're something of a talker."

I blushed and stared down at my desk, able only to mutter a brief "Yeah" as a response. But our conversation was making me supremely uncomfortable, so I quickly diverted his attention to our project. We are supposed to do in-depth character and plot analyses for any of Shakespeare's historic plays, and were then to compare the in-play historical facts with the real ones. It's due in three months and is a HUGE work load, because Mr. Radler wants a point presentation, posters—the works. I'm going to learn a lot, I can tell, but I'm still not looking forward to it.

We spent the period outlining our project and dividing up the work. Dante said he'd do the historical fact-checking if I'd take care of the character analysis (which seems like he has less work than I do, but I wasn't brave enough to argue) and that we'd do the plot dissection together.

I know this may sound paranoid, but I'm going to be keeping a VERY close eye on Dante's progress. I don't yet know how smart he is, but with that leather jacket and his tendency to be sent to the principal's office… well, frankly, he seems like a slacker. I hope I don't end up doing all of the work.

At any rate, class ended, and Dante started to lug our pushed-together desks back into their proper rows. I packed my things into my backpack, but as I neared the door to leave Dante called from his seat at the back of the class: "Sam, wait up!" He was busy crumpling papers—the ones outlining our project—into a black backpack.

My cheeks burned as the few remaining kids in the class turned to stare at me. At the time, I couldn't figure out why they were staring, but now it's obvious: the beautiful, enigmatic Loner Kid is talking to the plain, nerdy Queen of wallflowers? What? I think that more than one of the looks I garnered from the female student body were a tiny bit hostile, but since I did my best to keep my eyes glued to the floor I can't say anything for certain.

Dante eventually joined me by the door; his grin—coupled with that snowy hair and his surprisingly blue eyes, eyes whose color I truly noticed for the first time—seemed nearly angelic (the leather jacket and chain hanging out of his back pocket detracted from the image, somewhat). "My uncle's giving me a ride home," he said, "but can't get here for another half-hour or so. Keep me company?"

I blinked at him. Me? Of all people, he picked ME?! Unable to truly comprehend this, I nodded at him, and he smiled.

He held the classroom door open for me and started walking toward the front of the school; I had to do a funny sort of skip to keep up with his long legs, and bit my tongue to keep from asking him to slow down.

"My uncle's got the day off," Dante said over his shoulder. "Usually my aunt would pick me up."

"What does you uncle do?" I puffed. I'm not at all athletic, and Dante was a fast walker.

"He's an attorney," he said, stopping to open the school's front door. This time, he didn't hold it for me; he pushed it really hard so that it stayed open long enough for me to slip through, an act I can't decide was new-age chivalrous or totally ungentlemanly. "He handles wills, mostly, and estates. He's semi-retired, though, and gets about three days off a week."

I tried not to let the jealousy show on my face. "My father's a lawyer, too, but he—" I stopped myself, unwilling to complain.

I love Dad, and I don't begrudge him his late hours or lengthy business trips. Dad works hard to provide his family the best life possible, and if that means he rarely comes home in time for dinner—well, so be it. I just make sure to have a good meal on the table when he does come home before midnight.

Dante grinned at me as we walked into the cold January winds. Puffy gray cloud roiled overhead, threatening snow, and I hugged my jacket tighter around me.

"That's a coincidence," he said, making a beeline for one of the benches in front of the school. Our school has a large 'u' shaped driveway in front of it with at least a dozen stone benches lining the curve closest to the school building. Dante picked one that lounged under a crêpe myrtle tree. It was too late in the year for it to bloom, and its leafless branches provided little shade.

Dante sat down on the far end of the bench, so I sat down—like the coward I am—on the extreme opposite end. I shivered in my P-coat, sneaking a sidelong glance at Dante. He leaned backward, putting all of his weight on his arms, and didn't look cold at all. Not wanting to seem like a pansy, I didn't voice my opinion—that maybe it would have been better to wait inside—out loud.

Why had I agreed to wait with him in the first place?

"So tell me about yourself," Dante said suddenly, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

At that moment, Twist, a thousand, hopeful little bubbles floated through my head. 'He wants to be friends!' was one of them, and 'Maybe he thinks I'm cool!' was another. The fizzy cacophony of bubble-bath hopes made my head feel light and airy; perhaps I was on the verge of my first high school friendship!

As you can imagine, they all burst in an explosion of misery when Dante said: "I mean, since I'm going to be stuck with you for the next three months, I might as well know a bit about you."

And he'd been so nice to me up until then, Twist! My head rang with the phrase 'stuck with you' until I felt that I resonated with Dante's harsh words like a hollow bell. "Stuck with me?" I repeated in disbelief. My throat started to hurt and my eyes—shamefully—filled up with tears. "Stuck with me?" I felt like the biggest idiot on the planet, about to cry over the words of a stranger, but his words cut me very, very deeply.

I'm pretty sure that this is why I don't have any friends. I'm too thin-skinned and too much of a crybaby to keep them.

A flash of hectic pink stained Dante's pale cheeks. "That's not what I meant," he said, turning toward me, but I had already stood up ad taken several steps in the direction of the school, intent on getting away from the jerk that was my project partner.

I heard his footsteps behind me before his hand closed over my wrist. "Sam," he said, "I didn't mean it like that, okay, I—"

I yanked my arm away from him. "I'll see you in class," I said thickly, and kept walking.

He didn't follow me, and I went straight home.

The rest of the night was a blur: cooking, conversation with Dad, then you, Twist. I dread tomorrow more than anything—I definitely don't want to see Dante again, the inconsiderate jerk. But another run-in with him is unavoidable, I suppose, so I should probably have another batch of stuff to tell you tomorrow, Twist. I just hope it's not quite as depressing as today's story was…


End file.
